


A Goal Without A Plan(t)

by Inscapable



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: AU, Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe-Canon Divergence, Bad Puns, Canon divergence- Goblet of Fire, Dirty Talk, Domination, Explicit Sex, Fluid Bonded Partners, Friendly Smut, Getting Lost in the Bush, Humiliation, Impact Play, Kinky Kidnapping, M/M, Multi, Neville is Queer, No Plot, Other Relationships (mention), Power Exchange, Professor Neville Longbottom, Recovered Ferret Draco Malfoy, Rough Sex, Sarcastic Smut, Screw the Epilogue, Screw the Expanded Universe, Sequel, Smut and Sarcasm, a few years later, graphic smut, kinky smut, orgasm deniel, silliness, silly smut, two idiots one braincell, “Outdoor Recreation”
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-03-15
Updated: 2021-03-15
Packaged: 2021-03-23 16:13:35
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 7,333
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/30058104
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Inscapable/pseuds/Inscapable
Summary: Neville Longbottom is a confidant queer wizard with a professorship and several fulfilling relationships. He’s just reached his thirties; he’s older now than his parents were when they were tortured to insanity, and his happy, comfortable, well-established life has recently seemed somewhat bittersweet. To cheer himself up he decides to attend the Chelsea Flower Show as an observer for the Ministry of Magic.Little does he know, a friend of his has a (poorly considered) plan that will cast their relationship in entirely a new light and somewhat distract Neville from his Ministry duties.A smutty queer mini-sequel to Must(elid) Have You, featuring Neville Longbottom, Draco Malfoy, and approximately no intelligence whatsoever.
Relationships: Draco Malfoy/Neville Longbottom, Hermione Granger/Draco Malfoy, Neville Longbottom/Draco Malfoy, Neville Longbottom/OC
Kudos: 7





	1. Tree and Easy

**Author's Note:**

> I enjoyed writing my take on a glowed-up Neville Longbottom in Must(elid) Have You so much, that I ended up just... continuing to think about him afterwards. One of my favourite scenes to write (spoiler) was the quippy tension when a newly untransfigured Draco was exploring his shiny new human sexuality by throwing (a very willing) Neville around whilst buck naked.   
> Now that I’ve finished writing my “epic heterosexual love story spanning multiple relationships and species” (lol) welcome to the sequel; an absolutely filthy, kinky queer sex romp that takes place several years later.
> 
> As before, the scope of the story may flex a little; there might be some violence, references to mental illness, and some melancholy observations. I appreciate suggestions about tags to add to make the story safer for everyone to enjoy!

“I just want to remind you, for the record, that I never bullied anyone in school. In fact, Gryffindors bullied me”

They stood in a beautiful clearing in the forbidden forest; the sunken forest floor was mostly soft moss, and the high roots of the trees formed a close and screening wall; once warded, it was the ideal place for a little bit of outdoor recreation.

“I know, Vy, it’s just pretend” Neville reminded him, shrugging off his outer robes; he hung them over a root, and gestured triumphantly at himself; he’d found the outfit in a muggle shop, and the thin, shiny leggings had patterns of flowering vines creeping up them. The silky purple top, which was sleeveless and showed off rather a lot of his midriff, had a jagged, handkerchief hem, and was made of alternating panels of velvet and chiffon; he loved it. Vy bit his lower lip and smiled helplessly. Vy was sort of muggle-born- he definitely knew how muggles dressed, and Neville was determined to truely accomplish it, even if Vy tended to tell him every outfit he tried was perfect. He could tell by Vy’s reaction that he’d failed again. Maybe the handkerchief hem was too formal.

“I know” Neville tried to make it sound casual; Vy was a little bit nervous in the outdoors, whether it was the forest, or just the chance that someone might come across them, despite the wards. “Let’s duel a little”

“Neville!” Vy rebuked immediately “I was head of the Hogwarts Duelling Club back when we were allowed to have a duelling club! Actually, I was also the reason the Duelling Club got banned. I’ve travelled all over Europe to duel. I don’t think we’re quite in the same league”

“You’re being dramatic. I did fight in the war, you know. I can take care of myself- I just want... a little bit of danger.” Vy looked unconvinced; Neville fluttered his lashes appealingly “I trust you, I know you won’t hurt me”

Vy was conflicted; in the dappled shade of the clearing, he looked brooding and dark. He’d taken the glittery scrunchy out of his hair, and the thick dark waves of it fell forward as he tilted his head down in thought. Neville felt a pang of guilt for urging him in to this; he opened his mouth to relent, apologise, and then Vy looked up at him, a dangerous sort of light in his eyes.

“Shut your mouth” he ordered, very cooly. Neville was mesmerised by the change in him; the sudden focus, the menace he wore like a cloak. He could only stare as Vy covered the distance between them very quickly, very elegantly; the only thing that existed were those hungry eyes.

“I said, shut your mouth” Vy said softly, and Neville suddenly realised that the other wizard held a wand to his throat; the light touch of the blackened wood thrummed with energy. He closed his suddenly dry mouth.

“I know what you want” Vy said, his voice deadly soft. The wand traced up Neville’s throat, to his jaw, leaving a prickling path of warmth “I just don’t know why you think you’re going to get it from _me_ ”

“Vy, I-“ he started, somewhat lamely. And then Vy shoved him; Vy was not actually stronger then Neville, who’d taken up fencing after the war, but it was a sudden enough knock that he fell back against the mossy roots that arched high above them, huffing in surprise. Vy flicked his wand, and an invisible hand forced Neville roughly onto his knees- he unthinkingly reached for his own wand, tucked into the waistband of his leggings, but Vy was prepared for that, and the moment Neville felt the reassuring warmth of the magic at his fingertips, Vy disarmed him, his wand flying clear across the clearing.

“Heroic Neville Longbottom” Vy taunted dryly “fought in the _war_. Pity that didn’t, apparently, teach you anything”

Vy was convincingly menacing; his languid drawl was so like Malfoy’s that Neville wondered if it was something that Slytherins practiced. Vy examined him contemptuously, as if he was something with which he would have to make do, but which was, nonetheless, not quite pleasing to the eye. Neville was hopelessly aroused; he ached to touch himself through the thin material of the leggings, but also thrilled at keeping his hands splayed by his side, helpless to relieve himself.

Vy stepped forward, placing himself very much in the centre of Neville’s view, taking up his whole world. He ran a hand through the Neville’s thick hair, traced his fingernails lightly over his scalp. Vy was still wearing his robes; Neville wanted to nuzzle at the curtain of material in front of his face, knowing that Vy’s crotch was right there, but when he leant forward a tiny bit, Vy fisted the hand in his hair, pulling it tight, and drew him back.

“So fucking presumptuous” Vy scolded, but for a second, his menacing mask had slipped, and he was smiling, almost laughing. Neville grinned goofily back.

“The safe word is Pygmy Puff” Vy reminded him “Say it now, so I know you know it”

“Pygmy puff” Neville whispered, biting his lip in excitement.

Vy murmured a spell, and silken ropes slipped from his wand, encircling Neville’s chest and shoulders, and binding his hands behind his back. The silken backing of the velvet of his top was suddenly taut against his nipple rings.

Vy shrugged gracefully out of his robes, letting them slip off his slim shoulders, and Neville audibly gasped; beneath the robes, Vy was completely, magnificently naked. Neville flushed, remembering that they’d had breakfast together in the pub in the village and walked almost all the way back to Hogwarts from Hogsmeade, admiring the bright spring weather and observing that it would be a nice day to stroll the shaded paths of the Forest, and somehow he’d never noticed that Vy had no underclothes on.

Vy nudged a bare, anklet-ed foot forward, and lightly toed Neville’s crotch, smirking when he moaned; the warm, rough little nudge was maddening. Vy casually pressed his foot hard into Neville’s pelvis, tightening the stretchy fabric until it squashed Neville’s erection so much it was like grinding hopelessly against a pillow; he could almost gain enough friction to stimulate himself, but just not quite. He realised he was whimpering with the absolute nakedness of his lust; he leant forward and pressed his cheek to Vy’s thigh, rubbing against the smooth skin there. He badly wanted Vy to hit him, maybe kick him in the stomach; he thought he might come in his pants if he did.

But Vy was panting a little too; he pulled Neville’s face up from his thigh by his hair, guiding his mouth to his cock. His treatment was rough, urgent. He continued to pin Neville’s crotch with his foot, limiting his movement and his ability to find any purchase or relief. They’d never done this before, proper face-fucking like this, where Vy held Neville’s hair and thrust so deeply into his mouth that there was almost no wilful action on Neville’s part, just a bare attempt at maintaining suction and the relaxation of mind it took to be used like this; trusting that Vy would let him breathe even when he was carried away with his need.

And now Vy arched over him, throwing out his wand hand to brace himself on the roots above his head, his hand cradling Neville at the nape of the neck so that his head was tilted all the way back, and Vy was balls deep in Neville’s mouth, and gasping. For a second Neville was really struggling to breathe, and the pain in his crotch was hot and acute and perfect, and then Vy pulled out of his mouth and came on his chest, spurting onto the velvet and chiffon and dripping onto his belly and crotch, a trickling thrill of heat.

Vy straightened, treading off Neville’s crotch, and rested his head against his arm for a moment, catching his breath. When he looked down at Neville, he made a face.

“Shit. That’s not going to wash out of velvet” he made a wobbly attempt to aim his wand.

“No, leave it” Neville said woozily; the blood was rushing back to where Vy had been standing on him, and it felt incredible. He wanted Vy to somehow guess that he wanted more; that he wanted bruises and fear and to be /used.

Vy dropped down to his knees, finding the ends of the silken cords and working them until they fell away. Neville stretched a little, surprised how much it hurt when he moved. Vy scooped him gently against his shoulder, cradling him loosely enough that he could still stretch out his arms and shoulders.

“Beautiful man” Vy crooned “Are you okay?”

“Can I have more?” Neville asked hopefully.

“Of course” Vy said, surprised; he ran his fingers into Neville’s leggings, taking his cock in his hand and working it gently. His hand was dry and soft, still just intended to tease, but Neville was much more aroused than he’d thought, and that was all it took; he gasped into Vy’s shoulder as he came anticlimactically on the ground between their legs.

He hid his face in Vy’s neck while he recovered. Vy fussed with the fluttering hem of his shirt, the waistband of his leggings, hooked under his balls. “I like you” he said softly, into the sweaty hair behind Neville’s ear.

“I like you, too” Neville agreed, smiling into Vy’s skin “You’re very scary”

“Oh, we practice our menacing voice” Vy chuckled “We have a whole, slytherin-only class for it”

“I knew it!” Neville leant back to look at him, pressing their foreheads together. Their eyelashes could almost tangle together like this; the absurdity of the thought almost made Neville laugh. Vy didn’t really have a mean bone in his body; he steadied Neville as he rose, solicitously rearranging his clothes and vanishing the stains of their efforts with a wave of his wand.

“Can I borrow your owl when we get back?” Neville asked absently, as Vy gathered his robes “I have to ask Pansy if I can stay with her in London”

“When?” Vy asked cheerfully “We can go together”

“It’s actually during term- I’ve already told Minerva I need the time off”

“Since when do you take time off?” Vy snorted, linking arms with him.

“I’m going to a flower show” Neville said shyly; “It’s-“

“A flower show!” Vy gasped “Is that what Pansy calls it now when she doesn’t wear any knickers to the Ministry?”

“You’re one to talk about not wearing knickers!” Neville giggled, and Vy smirked, gathering his robes more closely about himself as they started towards the castle. “It’s where-“ Neville started to explain, and then blushed “Wait, you know what a flower show is! You can’t trick me in to... wizard-splaining to you”

“I’m a helpless and silly witch” Vy simpered, clutching his arm “raised by muggles and educated by frogs. I need a firm wizard hand to guide me”

“I’ll guide you right off the path and into a nettle patch” Neville snorted, and, still a little tipsy with their delinquency, together they walked home.


	2. In A Mink (Draco)

They lived in a tiny bluestone cottage near the gates of what was formerly the Malfoy estate. Once a gatekeepers cottage, it had an attached two-stall stable where they kept Hermione’s little pink Nissan, and an open-air lab where she could do magical experiment without potentially blowing up the cottage.

Downstairs was their combined living room, bedroom, and kitchenette, a slate-floored room with a potbelly stove, a sunny window seat, and enough room for all of their friends, as long as no one needed to sit down and a few people were willing to get fairly cosy. The second floor, reachable only by an external spiral staircase, was a narrow attic room with a pretty view over the garden, which Hermione had established as her study, as well as the cottage’s plumbing-less bathroom, which contained a tall copper hip-bath, and a matching copper sink in an ugly wooden stand, which had a belching vanishing spell instead of a drain.

The place was impractical to the extreme, leaky in the rain and always dusty; and if they hadn’t had frequent use of the facilities of the larger estate, including the manor, they would probably have been better off in a tent. Thankfully, since the Ministry of Magical Creatures were entirely content to put up with their midnight feasts in the kitchen of the manor, their baths together in the spa in the greenhouse, and their near-constant “secret” meetings in the reading room above the library, they loved the silly, badly designed bluestone to death and put up with the cold floors, temperamental stove, and mysteriously ensorcelled toilet.

Hermione was answering her mail; she did this first thing in the mornings, and because Draco was not an early riser by nature, she did it on the window seat in the living room so that he didn’t have to follow her up to her study half-asleep and potentially fall down the stairs. The smell of her tea was the first thing he woke up to every morning; if he was lucky he could watch her sleepily for an hour or more as she read, wrote, and neglected her drink with the teabag still steeping until it was stone cold and strong enough to stain the mug.

Today she was nibbling the end of her quill, a faint frown on her brow. Her tea was still steaming gently when she glanced up and spotted Draco awake; instead of smiling at him and going back to her work, she put the parchment gently aside and folded her hands. She had on her bad news face.

“I’m going on a book tour” she announced matter-of-factly.

Draco just stared at her. “A what?”

“A book tour, Draco. You must have been to a book signing before. Remember when- oh, no, never mind that. When you’re promoting your book, you sort of travel, visit different bookshops”

“It’s your book” Draco said in confusion “Why would I promote it?”

“‘You’ as a third person plural, Draco” Hermione said patiently “ _I’m_ going to visit lots of different bookshops, do readings, sign books, tell wizarding children about how I live at the Ministry of Magical Creatures, that sort of thing”

Draco frowned; it was too early in the morning for the sort of brainpower this required. “What will I do?”

“Stay here, I suppose” she said in surprise “It’s mostly around Europe, but then I’ll be going to Australia and New Zealand; the ministry will be giving me portkeys, it looks like. It has to do with my ambassadorship, according to my agent. It’s a terribly good opportunity because my agent is paying for my stays abroad, but I’ll have plenty of time to visit the Wilkins anyway”

Draco struggled valiantly to be happy for her, but failed at the thought of the bluestone without her. “Are you leaving me?”

“Only in the most literal sense” Hermione said, fighting a smile “I’ll be coming back”

“After how long?”

“Four weeks” Hermione said calmly.

“A month!” Draco howled indignantly, sitting up in bed “You’re leaving me for a month? You might as well go forever!”

“Hm, I’ll take that under advisement” Hermione snorted “I thought that a month was a fair bit shorter than forever”

“You think this is funny?” Draco stormed, twisting at the covers in his anguish.

“It’s hard not to” Hermione bit her lip, and came over to the bed, sitting beside him to softly stroke his hair “It’s only a month, _fouillement_ ”

“A month without you” Draco sighed, slumping and burying his face in her lap “A month without feeding you sweet berries or combing the leaves out of your hair! You do realise that you’ll miss the blackberries? You never miss the blackberries”

“I don’t even like blackberries” she sighed down at the back of his head, because he’d turned his face deeper into her lap, nuzzling her knickers.

“Lies. Lies and slander” Draco declared, but he wasn’t sure if she’d actually heard him, because his mouth was somewhat buried. He went to raise his head to repeat himself, and she lightly pushed him back down, opening her legs a little. He got the gist, but he craftily hesitated to oblige.

“Who will do this for you, if you leave me?” He asked silkenly.

“Oh, I don’t know” Hermione said lightly “I’m sure I’ll meet _someone_ ”

“You are tormenting me on purpose, now” He shoot her a menacing look.

“Don’t make your grumpy face at me” Hermione laughed “You’re the only one who’s afraid to go a month without sex”

“A month without you! I don’t care about sex!” Draco was wounded; he sat up.“But, actually, how _am_ I supposed to go without sex for a month?”

“Have sex with Pansy” Hermione suggested, touching his lip lightly.

Draco sighed in resignation “Pansy called me a dumb slut” he grumped.

“Huh? Were you being a dumb-“ Hermione started, and Draco quickly batted her with a pillow to stop her from speaking. She pushed the pillow down, laughing “Draco! Enquiring minds want to know! Were you being a dumb slu-”

Draco straddled her, pushing the pillow lightly over her face as she wriggled and shrieked with laughter. He succeeded in preventing Pansy’s crass language from crossing her lips, but really only because she was laughing so hard she couldn’t talk. She gave up, resting her palms lightly on his thighs and waiting patiently for him to remove the pillow, still bursting intermittently into helpless trills of laughter. He lifted the pillow, pouting at her. Her hair curly hair was a wild halo; her cheeks were flushed and her eyes were glowing. She needed no invitation to press her hand to his swelling cock, thumbing his glans like it was the page of a book that she was about to turn.

“I’ll miss you” he said, rocking his hips very slightly against her fingers.

“Draco, I love you. I’ll miss you. But it is only a month. I don’t care how you entertain yourself while I’m working, as long as she’s not a stranger”

“Who said it has to be a she?” He threatened aimlessly; she seemed to find this absolutely hilarious, even as she raised her head to plant a smiling kiss to the front of his shorts.

“Fine, as long as she, he, or _they_ aren’t a stranger.” She coiled her arms around his waist, rubbing her cheek sleekly against his navel “Now, if you don’t stop being so dramatic about it, I’ll send you to stay at Hogwarts for a month, and you can try to explain why you need a babysitter to Neville Longbottom, hm?”


	3. Flower Power

He came to the Chelsea Garden Show as a Ministry observer. After an incident in which a topiary elephant had tried to trample the Queen (the result of a mis-fired curse between a pair of arguingwitches) the ministry had wised up to the potential for magical plants and animals to mistakenly appear at the show, hidden (or, worse, showcased) amongst the non-magical displays. The annual show attracted almost a hundred and sixty thousand muggles, including the Royal family, and took place in the heart of London. The chances for magical incidents were endless. Since most Aurors weren’t actually expert magi-botanists, they relied on a network of “expert” volunteer observers.

The ministry “press” pass gave him access to the show before it even started; he’d been staying with Pansy in her London flat since the beginning of May. If he’d hoped that she might take an interest in the show or perhaps want to go out for dinner with him one night, he’d been so far thwarted by her long work hours and her apparent determination to keep him tied to her bed. It was nice to be desired, but her many cheerful reminders that she was only using him for his body made it hard to chat.

This was the first day that the show was open to the public, non-members of the RHS, and, coming on lunch time, it was busy. There’d be _actual_ Aurors around somewhere on the eleven acre grounds, probably wizards who’d drawn a short straw; big muggle events were usually a bit more exciting for them.

Neville had toured the grounds extensively, and he still couldn’t see how anyone could get bored; lingering at his favourite installation for at least the tenth time, he left the observation to the aurors for a minute and leant forward to drink in the luscious sight and smell.

Orchids grew on every continent except Antarctica. Some were edible, including an Australian orchid that was eaten by the indigenous people, who found the starchy tubers by following the rooting tracks of a tiny animal called a bandicoot. Neville found this marvellous.

They were a massive family of plant, with almost four times as many species of orchid as there were species of mammal. The wizarding world largely ignored orchids, or showed very little interest in them, because the few magical varieties were too rare and difficult to propagate to make any meaningful use of, but one of them was a panacea, and another, which grew almost exclusively on marble gravestones in wizarding cemeteries, was said to curse anyone who picked it with never being able to warm themselves again.

Despite this, all orchids were on the Ministry of Magic’s “Least Concerning” list, which described the potential harm to Muggles of any particular plant species. That meant that, regretfully, and even if there’d been a magical orchid in the display, Neville couldn’t just live in the beautiful room designed by the Taiwan Orchid Growers Association; the mass of colour and the sweet perfume overwhelmed him nonetheless. It was hard to believe something non-sexual could give him such intense pleasure.

He suddenly became aware of someone standing at his shoulder; even in the eager crowds, this was a bit close for a stranger. He peeked sideways at the ardent flower-lover, and met Draco Malfoy’s intense, flinty stare.

“Malfoy!” It was a surprise to see the wizard so far from the estate, and even more surprising that he was unaccompanied by Hermione. Malfoy gave him a surprisingly dark look, and raised his pale eyebrows slightly.

“Longbottom” he said cooly.

“I didn’t know you liked orchids” Neville said rather lamely; several years of familiarity had somewhat blunted the impact that Malfoy’s powerful muscularity had on him, but an unexpected encounter in a public place, with other wizard wearing menace like aftershave, left him jumbled.

“I didn’t come here for the orchids” Malfoy said flatly, half turning and raising his hand to Neville’s chest; he wrapped his fingers around the ministry lanyard that Neville had been issued for the event, twisted it tight, and said, very shortly “Come”

Even if Neville had been reluctant (he wasn’t), he was pulled along like a dog on a lead. “Malfoy-?” He began hesitantly, but Malfoy ignored him; the crowd parted around him easily and Neville was riding the wake. Malfoy was dressed impeccably after muggle fashion; one of Hermione’s stretchy yellow spaghetti-strap tank tops, a battered, oversized oxford button-up that she used as an art smock, which had tiny little purple hummingbirds patterned on it, and a long grey utility kilt that kept giving neville glimpses of his muscular calves. The paisley socks cuffed carelessly over the tops of his dragon hide boots were chaotic yellow and purple; they really tied the outfit together.

Malfoy had lead him to a sort of laneway between several installations. The smell of flowers had been replaced by sawdust, rubber, and metal; it was thrillingly like being hidden between frames in a picture. He threw Neville roughly up against a scaffold, still looking rather cross. Neville’s whole body prickled with warmth as Malfoy examined him from head to toe, taking in his incognito muggle outfit(a collared, sleeveless “women’s” jumpsuit in a loud, floral pink paisley) and his laboriously stilled magical tattoos, caught in their brightest, blooming profusion for the duration of the muggle event. He gave the softest sniff, rolling his eyes a little.

“I’ve been thinking, lately” Malfoy said softly, dangerously. From a pocket in the kilt he produced a tiny, silk-wrapped bundle. Taking a careful grasp of it, and a much less careful hold of Neville’s wrist with his other hand, he shook away the silk, revealing an old and notched knob; the displaced heat dial of a kitchen hob. His eyes glittered maliciously.

“The fact is, _I owe you_ , Longbottom. And you’re about to see just what.”

Malfoy curled his fingers over the knob; there was a very particular feeling in Neville’s stomach, a twisting tug, like his liver was trying to jump out of his belly button, and suddenly he was enclosed in the cool, constant darkness of a deep forest. He was kneeling amongst the leaf litter; his confusion was such that he was only just catching up to the idea he’d been portkeyed when Malfoy roughly grabbed his shirtfront and kissed him.

His mouth tasted sweetly of apple toffees. He was demanding and unhesitant; he pressed his tongue eagerly against Neville’s and tightened his grasp on the collar of Neville’s shirt. Neville suddenly realised why the romper was supposed to be worn by a woman; the rough tugging on the front was translated directly to Neville’s groin, pinning his suddenly sensitised cock. He gasped loudly against Malfoy’s lips. Malfoy looked at him in surprise.

“Are you seriously that excited already?” He said dubiously “I knew you were a cock hungry slut, Longbottom, but you don’t even know what I’m doing”

“I don’t care” Neville said impulsively; he leant forward to kiss Malfoy again, and reeled back, face burning, as Malfoy fetched him a lazy, open-handed slap about the cheek and mouth.

For a long second his brain stalled; he was always surprised how little pain actually _hurt_. Giddy pleasure swooped in where he supposed that there should have been discomfort.

Malfoy had lit his wand to see Neville properly in the gloom of the trees, and was watching him curiously, his concentration intent. Then he drew his hand back very deliberately, and backhanded Neville hard across the face, sending him to his hands and knees in the dirt. Neville was aware of his breathing, harsh and quick in his ears, and a dazzled absence of thought. He didn’t cry out.

“Fuck” Malfoy said admiringly, and that made Neville strangely proud. Malfoy dropped his lit wand to the ground a little ways away, then pulled Neville’s wand out of his waistband and tossed it over there too.

Now he’d found the waist bow at the back of Neville’s jumpsuit; he tugged it slowly loose, and then ripped the ribbon off entirely, causing some of the buttons on the front to pop. Neville automatically clutched the top closed, and Malfoy deliberately grabbed it by the shoulders, tearing it out and open, and causing all the rest of the buttons to shoot off. He yanked it down to Neville’s waist and laughed in wicked glee.

Neville tried to free his arms from the sleeves, but Malfoy shoved him hard in the ribs, rolling him onto his back with his hands pinned at his waist by the torn top.

They’d seen each other naked plenty of times; skinny dipping in the freezing lake at the manor, teasing Hermione with their chests while she tried to cook breakfast, and, most memorably, at Hogwarts, when Malfoy had just become human again and still hated wearing clothes. This was the first time Neville was really _conscious_ of Malfoy’s hungry eyes on his skin, and he almost shrieked when Malfoy lowered his beautiful blond head to his chest and bit eagerly at his pecs and stomach.

“Fuck” Malfoy said again. He straddled Neville’s stomach, whipping off his shirt and the tank, which he rubbed roughly against Neville’s face. It smelt muskily of Draco’s body, and suddenly Malfoy was forcing the silky material into his mouth, stuffing it in with two fingers, then three, until Neville gagged, which made Malfoy laugh again.

“I used to dream of torturing you when we were in school, Longbottom” Draco murmured “I never would have guessed you fucking enjoyed it-“ he considered for a moment, idly tweaking Neville’s piqued, pierced nipples. “Fucking pervert”

The scrunch of silky cloth in his mouth overwhelmed him with the taste and smell of Malfoy’s body. The other wizard took Neville firmly by the throat, reaching casually under his kilt with his other hand and working himself out of his briefs; his cock dropped heavy and warm onto Neville’s stomach, and his knuckles stroked Neville’s navel as he pumped himself, his eyes settling half closed. Neville wriggled and arched eagerly as Malfoy started to thrust lightly into his own fist, because it caused his butt to dip slightly onto Neville’s crotch. Malfoy laughed gruffly, absorbed in his masturbation.

“If you think I’m going to let you cum that easily, you’re stupider than you look, Longbottom” he rumbled distractedly, his fist tightening around Neville’s throat. “Oh, Merlin. Fuck-” he panted, dipping his head, the pace of his thrusts picking up torturously “-Fuck, it feels good to hurt you again, you- you stupid-“

Neville was breathing harshly now, barely able to snatch a breath through Malfoy’s crushing grip on his throat. He was lightheaded with musk and desire.

Abruptly, Malfoy released his throat and rolled him roughly onto his stomach, shoving his face into the dirt and hauling him to his knees.

He yanked down the waist of the torn romper and Neville’s underwear, exposing his butt, which he seized with rough, eager fingers, kneading and smacking the pale flesh. He grabbed a wand; either Neville’s or his own, Neville wasn’t sure anymore, and Neville heard a muttered charm, and felt a trickle of warm wetness between his cheeks. Malfoy teased at Neville’s asshole with his thumb, then the head of his cock, then he started to pump the length of himself luxuriously between Neville’s cheeks, sliding deliciously against Neville’s asshole without penetrating him.

“It’s a pity you can’t tell me how much you want my cock, Longbottom” Malfoy drawled lazily “Got your mouth full, haven’t you? Now I’ll never know”

Neville pushed his butt eagerly up and back, almost delirious with desire. His cock was squashed in the taut tangle of the romper, but he’d twisted one trapped hand underneath his body when Malfoy had rolled him over, and he could now masturbate through the ruined fabric, absolutely shameless in his lust. If Malfoy had noticed, he didn’t care; he was still jerking off against Neville‘s asshole, his musing now speculative.

“I might have missed out, not fucking your fat ass before now” he rumbled “I bet we could have taken turns with you in school, just passed your ass around like a fag-“ he laughed at his own double entendre and swirled his fingertips roughly over the head of his cock, right at Neville’s asshole, wiping away a few hot drops of precum. Neville bumped back at just the right moment and Malfoy’s cock slipped inside him; Malfoy made a discomposed little noise of surprise, but recovered immediately, sliding deeper and grabbing Neville’s hips.

“Merlin!” Malfoy gasped “You queer little fuck! You tight- oh, fuck,- shameless little cockwomble”

He was balls-deep and thrusting urgently, digging his nails into Neville’s hips. Neville was boneless with the feeling of being taken so roughly from behind. Malfoy’s longish cock was perfect; veiny and fuller at the base, giving Neville’s quivering asshole an exquisite stretch along the length of each thrust.

Neville came as hard as he ever had in his life; Malfoy might as well have been speaking in tongues by that point, as the hard burn of pain and breathtaking pleasure peaked into something else entirely. He might almost have passed out- he barely felt Malfoy slide out of him and cum on his ass, something he normally wouldn’t have missed for the world.

Malfoy let his body slither limply to the ground, swiping cum-slick fingers cheerfully on his bum to clean them off and climbing to his feet. It was a few moments before Neville registered that Malfoy was talking to him; he rolled onto his side, freeing a hand from the mess of his clothing to brush dirt from his face.

Malfoy, his lit wand in hand, was looking around blankly, taking in the massive trees that towered all around them and the ancient tree ferns that made up the scarce understory. The darkness outside of the wand light was complete, velvet blackness, and Neville was perplexed- it shouldn’t be nearly so dark, even in a dense forest, when it was almost midday.

“This isn’t the coppice” Malfoy said again, looking down at Neville in alarm “Neville- Where the bloody hell are we?”


	4. Lost In The Woods

“Wait, wait- You bought an illegal portkey from _Vyomir_?” Neville said incredulously “Did you buy some of his magic mushrooms, too?”

“I didn’t buy it! He gave it to me to facilitate my adorable mischief” Malfoy pouted. The other wizard was hastily rearranging himself, looking around wildly. Malfoy repaired his romper with a flick of his wand. “And I don’t like mushrooms”

“Merlin, Malfoy! Don’t you know not to take candy from strangers?”

“Vyomir isn’t a stranger! He’s a highly respected educator and I’ve seen him wear a hat _at least_ once”

“He is a forty-year-old witch who still licks toads!” Neville said in frustration.

“Now we aren’t supposed to lick toads?”

“Malfoy, I know you’ve only been human for a few years, so maybe no one has told you this, but _never_ trust a teacher, okay? We are tiny gods of drama”

“Yes, that sounds correct” Malfoy acknowledged, thinking of every teacher he’d ever known, including Hermione.

“These are eucalyptus” Neville said, examining the trees which towered over their heads with eerily straight, branchless trunks “Where were we _supposed_ to be?”

“The coppice in the north field of the Malfoy Estate” Draco said uncertainly “It’s overgrown, but it doesn’t look like this”

“Of course it doesn’t” Neville said weakly “There aren’t Eucalyptus in England, Malfoy. Most of them are in Australia. And almost none of them get this big outside of old growth forests”

“So, what, we’re in Australia? How does a backyard portkey do that?” Hermione would have already come to a conclusion and be in the midst of lecturing him; Neville just threw up his hands in despair.

“Do I _look_ like I could make an illegal portkey, Malfoy? I am good at approximately two things, and one of them is what got us in to this!”

Draco reached out and flicked a leaf out of Neville’s thick, wavy hair, then rested his hand silently on Neville’s head before he became so hysterical that it flew right off. Neville blinked owlishly and combed his moustache several times.

“We are wizards” Malfoy said gravely, with more confidence than he felt “We’ll be fine”

Neville bit his lip uncertainly. “You’re right”

“Maybe I can talk to a snake” Draco suggested “There are lots of snakes in Australia, aren’t there?”

“You can’t, though” Neville pointed out, still gamely trying to sound reasonable “And aren’t the snakes here all poisonous?”

“I may be a Parseltongue! I _am_ a Slytherin- I could just be a late bloomer” Malfoy opined “And ferrets are immune to snake poison”

“I think you’re thinking about Mongoose, and even if if you aren’t, you’re not a ferret anymore” Neville said, his brows drawing together. Malfoy resisted the urge to smooch the little crease that formed on his forehead, but it was difficult; he felt like he hadn’t quite met his daily quota for tiny smooches, and it was really compromising his ability to cope with stress.

“What do you think we should do?”

“I’m- not sure. Build a shelter?” Neville suggested “It might rain”

“What, do you melt in the rain?” Malfoy snorted scornfully “Merlin, Longbottom, we’re not shipwrecked”. Indeed, the night was warm, even pleasant. No hint of a breeze stirred the forest floor, and even in their scanty clothing they hadn’t been chilled.

“Do you know the spell to make water with your wand?” Neville asked hopefully.

“AH-gwah-MEN-tee” Malfoy drawled, “We don’t have plumbing at the cottage”

“If we don’t need shelter or water, maybe we should start a fire” Neville decided.

“In the mood for a touch of arson, are we?” Malfoy said critically “What for?”

“Hey, Malfoy, I’m working off a pretty limited list of half-remembered survival skills from that one time I was in Peru!” Neville said “What’s your excuse?”

“I’m hungry” Malfoy stuck out his lip “I didn’t have breakfast. And I want to smooch your stupid little face!”

Neville looked at him blankly. “Now?”

“Now” Malfoy confirmed. Neville hesitated, and then shuffled closer, and Malfoy draped his arms around the wizard’s narrow shoulders and kissed him gently until they were both considerably calmer.

“Don’t say anything snarky” Neville said, looking around “But I think it’s night here”

“Australia isn’t the land of eternal darkness?” Malfoy asked, before he could stop himself. Neville put a hand over his mouth.

“We probably shouldn’t just wander around the forest in the middle of the night. There might be dangerous animals, or we could fall and hurt ourselves. If you make a fire, though, I can find us something to eat, and it means that we don’t have to keep our wands lit all night”

“Are you going to hunt a koala?” Malfoy asked interestedly “That’s the only Australian animal I know”

“I’m going to dig up that clump of grass over there” Neville said patiently “and a few others. That looks like a type of native yam, and if we get really desperate, we can eat a tree fern, but we should wait until we’re desperate, because they’re rare”

“They don’t look rare” Malfoy said darkly, glowering at the plants that surrounded them like it was their fault the wizards were here. Neville lit the end of his wand and began to move in gradually widening circles around the spot where they’d fucked, paying close attention to the ground. It wasn’t interesting to watch, and Malfoy wasn’t sure what a yam was, but he strongly suspected that he wouldn’t like it. He’d become an expert at foraging in the hedgerows of home, but nothing here looked familiar, save some of the more uninteresting looking ferns. Ferns were the same everywhere.

Draco picked over the space that would be their “camp”, less of a clearing and more of a gap between a few trees just large enough for them to have rolled around; now that he looked at it, it was hard to imagine how he’d been so distracted that he hadn’t noticed it was not the coppice. He started a small pile of sticks near a flat spot that would make a convenient place to lounge; he tried to pretend he was collecting kindling for the little Fawkes day bonfires that Hermione liked.

Gathering a pile of dry leaf-litter, he idly poked one of his collected twigs down a curious, finger-width hole in the earth. It seemed to go down, perfectly smooth, a long way, and, intrigued, he was about to stick his finger in it when a truely enormous spider jumped out of it, fangs bared. He leapt away with a yell of surprise- and tripped on his pile of twigs, falling on his ass.

Neville was there in an instant, the front of his romper bulging with the collected forage he’d been gathering, his wand out.

“I want Hermione!” Draco cried in dismay, watching the terrible spider withdraw stealthily back into its hole; now that he was looking, there were a number of such holes in the earth, and the idea that they all may contain spiders was not a welcome one.

“Me too. She’d be able to transfigure us a couch and a kettle” Neville said gloomily.

“My clever witch!” Draco moaned, kindling the sticks with a poke of his wand. Maybe a fire would keep the spiders away. Neville squatted next to the cheerful little blaze, emptying the romper and examining his collected treasure.

“Don’t forget that it was a clever witch that got us in to this” Neville said, looking like he wasn’t exactly sure how to go about cleaning or cooking the small pile of dirty vegetables. Draco summoned a largish rock from the edge of the clearing and lay it near the fire to heat; then he took the vegetables off Neville and started washing them carefully with his wand.

“I promise you, Hermione had nothing to do with this” he assured Neville wearily.

“No, but Vy did! Backyard ruddy portkeys! If he was _half_ as sensible as he was clever, he’d be a danger to all of wizard-kind”

Draco was amused by the implication, thinking of Hermione; she’d started to make noises about social justice and that sort of thing again recently, and if any witch could be described as sensible, clever, and a danger to all wizard-kind, it would be her.

“Why does Vy think he’s a witch?” Draco asked suddenly, interested.

“He’s a Wiccan. It’s a type of muggle religion. Adherents are all called witches; he says it’s a gender neutral term”

“Muggles have a religion where they pretend to be witches?” Draco was astonished. It was an incredibly bizarre thing to imagine.

“You know, we’re a bit similar about that” Neville mused, watching Draco cook.

“I’m not a witch!” Draco said vehemently.

“I mean, we’re both purebloods dating muggleborns who are much cleverer than we are” Neville said patiently.

“Oh” Draco considered this for a moment “What’s the strangest muggle thing that Vyomir does?”

“Floss” Neville replied immediately; and then he gave Malfoy a quick description of what sounded like an absolutely revolting process. Suddenly, Draco knew why Hermione sometimes locked the bathroom door. “And he’s circumcised” Neville said conspiratorially. Malfoy _did_ know what this was, but it was hard to imagine; muggles were extremely strange sometimes.

“Hermione wears jeans” Malfoy said “All the time! She actually prefers them to robes. And she thinks my wearing kilts and skirts when I’m dressing like a muggle is funny”

“I bought this backless evening gown to go and see ‘The Little Shop Of Horrors’- it’s muggle theatre- with Vy once, and he said that there probably wouldn’t be any other men wearing a dress”

“I’ve done that!” Malfoy said “Hermione and I went to see a historical play about a muggle who cooked other muggle into pies, and she made me change about ten times because apparently I ‘dress like a pimp’!”

“What’s a pimp?” Neville asked with interest.

“She never explained!” Malfoy said earnestly “I always meant to ask Pansy, but I never remember”

“It does sound like the sort of thing Pansy would know” Neville hummed, stroking his chin. Draco couldn’t guess how long it had been since the other wizard had shaved, but he already had a dark shadow of stubble. When Draco grew facial hair, it was so light and fine it was almost invisible; he only shaved once or twice a month. He was a bit jealous of Neville’s curly moustache.

Draco sliced the now-clean tubers with his wand, and set them to frying on the hot top of the rock. He didn’t wish for some butter or salt so much as he wished for some _actual fucking food_ ; a mouse would have been more appealing than the colourless, fibrous vegetables. He must have been making a face, because Neville reached over and lightly squeezed his hand.

“Things will look better in the morning, Draco” he said gently, and Draco snorted softly, not believing him for a moment.


End file.
